I Want To Belong With You
by Daryl Zero
Summary: Leon S. Kennedy contemplates his relatonship with Ada Wong. Please read and review.


**Disclaimer**: I do **not** own the rights to Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, William Birkin, Racoon City, the T- or G-virus creatures, or (unfortunately) Jill Valentine. I don't own the rights to _anything_ Resident Evil. Capcom owns the rights. I am not Capcom. Don't confuse the two. This fanfiction is written without permission, but it is also submitted freely and without any promise or acceptance of gain. I have not accepted any payment for this story (a work of pure fiction, by the way) and will not do so. This work was written solely by me based upon my own understanding of game plots I neither wrote nor own. I did it solely for fun. Upon request from the kind people who _do_ own the rights (not me), this fanfiction will be removed. So in conclusion…

Please don't sue me.

I repeat: please don't sue me.

(Damned lawyer crazed society…Not to say I am in any way directing libel towards any lawyers, real or fictional. I am merely constructing a joke, one which I wrote myself and did not and will not accept payment for at any time, for what will probably at best be interpreted as mild amusement. I respect the profession of law and recognize all the hard-working, honest (stiffles guffaw) lawyers out there.)

Note to readers: I appreciate you taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to review, if so the spirit move you.

I Want To Belong With You

by

Daryl Zero

I am lost in my own thoughts, a prisoner to restless and everlasting pining. I think of you, Ada, carrying you in a past I can't let go.

Six years; I wish I could leave it at that but I can't, not in my mind. Although given recent events, six years should definitely _feel_ like a long enough time. But not long enough for lovers, especially two who met in darkness and absconded farther into it.

In the beginning, I only knew you for one night, but it counts for so much more. It was a night to remember: an ambivalent police station serving as the last battleground for a humanity pitted against unadulterated fear and evil resident in the veins of filthy, personified biological capsules who had once been people, who had lived and died, and then after death arose to a new, second life. This second life was faux, possible only through the evaporation of reason, love, and compassion: the fundamental characteristics defining humanity. Microscopic malice exterminated this humanity, and facilitated a second life. The Raccoon journey had been a lonely one, composed of opening an endless supply of rooms, each saturated by cold fall air and gloom. Humming artificial life, fluorescent lighting lit a world of winding, apocalyptic halls where mindless puppets skulked about rasping chemical epitaphs of failure and madness, hunting the living, now the endangered species.

And in it all, _through_ it all, was you: the woman in red, the woman I love. A repose I had met while I shot my way through it all, inching through a decomposing underbelly dubbed by gun reports and illuminated by muzzle flare, each bang and flash casting consciousness upon the night and its new rulers commissioned by Birkin.

Birkin caused it all, and in a way serves as an exemplar for my situation. He obsessed over what he desired to the point of eclipsing all else and thus losing what he did have. It happens when you can't let something go. Whatever you're after changes you, twisting and mutating, making any virus a formality by comparison. The result is a new entity shifted against its former self and values.

Is that what you are to me? What will happen to me if I can't let go? Will my fate be the same as Birkin's? Or worse…

I remember how you were that night, and it was as you are now: cold and cocky, sardonic tone devoid of humanity. You care only for yourself and offer assistance only to those you exploit for _your_ hunt. Does that make you a monster as well?

That is how it appears. Yet…

I can't shake the notion that you did more for me than you had to. Concealed emotion drove you succor, but just what emotion? Sympathy? Compassion? Love?

Ada, Ada, Ada. Why can't I let you go?

Who could? Who would?

But then why, if you care, do you always leave? Is it just how things are meant to be: misconstrued by the random? Just as Racoon's denizens were puppets of a higher evil, are you and I just puppets of chance? Or do you simply wish to protect me?

Given our respective positions, maybe it's better that way. Maybe it shouldn't be. Maybe I love you anyway.

It keeps happening, that's for sure. Every time I even begin to convince myself things could finally change, that maybe there is hope and redemption, something, _anything_, reminds me of you. It hurts, regretting. It hurts bad, as if somewhere deep inside, you're wrenching at my insides. Sometimes I dream of you (yes, sometimes a few of _those _dreams) and it doesn't hurt so much. Only after I wake up, then does it hurt. But mostly…

Mostly I miss you. I try to change, try to _will _the past to change with me. I just want you, simple as that. You saved my life, risking yours for mine even when there was nothing more for you to gain. Then and now, it's what happened. You helped me in the past get to a future where we could be together, if only briefly. Both then and now you appeared seemingly from nowhere, ravaging silence with solitary accuracy. Gunshots always usher your entry.

Is that how we'll meet again? If we do, when we do, will you just use me again? Is that the only way you'll ever know? Will we ever have a true goodbye?

I often wonder if it is the same with you. I wish it was, but I doubt it. Your profession, your _life_, revolves around treachery and deceit. You wear another face to work, one I'm afraid could never come off for me. I'm afraid you can't even take it off for yourself.

But I don't know and may never. I wish I could, but I don't. Now I only yearn to stop thinking about it. It's just…

You can be so cold (your greatest strength and weakness), too cold to love…

But that's what attracts me.

I just want to talk to you in a calm moment, catch you in my arms, bury my head in your hair and tell you…

You're the best there is, Ada. The most beautiful I've ever seen and ever will see. They'll never be another like you to me, as long as I live. I wish you were mine and I was yours. I wish you wished for it too. But most of all, I just wish there was more time. But I know there never will be, not for us.

I want to whisper it to you, for more reasons than I can consider. I want to be with you right now Ada, wherever you are. I want to belong with you.


End file.
